Smoke and Mirrors
by Marauder and The Q
Summary: Green and gold is how a day begins. One day can change lives.


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Really… I think I have a quarter in my pocket, though… **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders, **and I used some exact dialogue from the book, plus a line of action. I did not write those, and you will recognize them for what they are—excerpts, to make the scene more accurate, more true to the book.

**Title:** _Smoke and Mirrors_

**A/N:** Enjoy…

* * *

The pink-gold mists of dawn flooded Dexter Armstrong's vision as he peered from his window, his large, blue eyes rapt with wonder. Being five-years-old, of course, meant that the stunning sunrise he bore witness to, alone in his simple little bedroom, was nothing more than a pretty picture—but it was more. Oh, was it more.

It meant the start of a fresh day. This day promised a wonderful new memory for future posterity—maybe even an adventure; one could never tell until bedtime.

The first hazes of daybreak were beginning to dissipate, but, for a moment, they froze, perfectly shading a deep scarlet sun rising above endlessly stretching fields and houses and the tiny square that was the school in the distance. It was framed by the vaporous morning glow for an instant, and then it rose higher, higher, seeming to leave a trail of parted mist in its warm, bright wake. The sun was fully risen by the time Dexter's parents awoke from their deep, peaceful slumbers, and he heard the lumbering footfalls of his father's slipper-clad feet tread down the narrow hallway.

Once Dexter was quite sure that the sun's appearing act was over and he would not be missing an even greater feat, he donned his socks and padded softly into the sole bathroom. Quickly, excitedly—more awake than he'd been at this hour in a very long time, if he even had before—he brushed his teeth and combed his golden hair.

He wasn't particularly hungry when he entered the kitchen, where his father was seated at the square table in the center, but he was used to eating breakfast every morning, so he sat quietly and watched his father's eyes scan the paper in his hand. After roughly a minute, his father, John Armstrong, looked up, and they locked eyes.

"Coffee?" his father offered jokingly, gesturing to the percolator on the counter.

Dexter scrunched up his face with distaste, shaking his head, and John smiled and chuckled softly. In a low voice, he said, "I thought not. How about some toast and eggs?"

Dexter nodded, and John stood to make them breakfast.

"Henry is still sick," he began, fishing two slices of bread out of a nearly empty bag, "and it seems he's passed it on to Diane, so your mother won't be able to assist your teachers at the school picnic, after all. She's going to stay home with them. I don't think you should really be too disappointed—I heard her talking last night about how it was the perfect opportunity to flash some older baby pictures Henry dug up a few weeks ago. It may not embarrass you now, but in a few years, you'll remember it, and you'll regret it. Unless, of course, there's a girl at this picnic that remembers how cute you were in them and forgives you your gawky teen years in favor of the man still to come. It'd be a great story to tell the kids, if you ever have any—'How did I meet your mother? Well, she saw some naked baby pictures of mine and thought I was a dish.'"

Dexter smiled as he heard the deep, smooth timbre of his father's voice, and he wondered what pictures he was speaking of.

"So it's just you and me," John continued, now cracking eggs into a small pan. "I'll get you to school, don't worry."

And, of course, Dexter didn't worry. He yawned openly.

"Sleep well, did you?"

"Yup. The sun was real pretty."

"I'll bet it was. I used to watch those," John said wistfully, stirring the contents of the pan and adding seasonings. "Sun_sets_, though—you ought o' see them. Or maybe we can break out grandpa's old telescope and I can see if I remember any constellations. How would you like that?"

"Lots," Dexter replied simply, deeply inhaling the wonderfully sweet aroma of whatever his father had seasoned the eggs with.

"Good."

xxx

Slowly, Jerry Wood drained his coffee mug, beginning to feel the caffeine infiltrate and heighten his senses.

"Late start, Jerry?" Norma O'Briant asked from her own plastic chair in the makeshift teachers' lounge at Windrixville School, K-8.

"Yeah, but I'm comin' to," he said sluggishly. "Where are we having this picnic at, again?"

"Well," Norma began, perfectly awake and cheery, "there's a lovely view from Jay mountain. It should be beautiful—just beautiful. I think there's still an old table out front…"

"That the one with the old church?" Jerry wondered aloud.

"Yes, so we'll have to keep an eye on the children, make sure they don't wander too far or end up inside. But goodness knows, it really is a sight." She sighed almost lovingly. "It's gonna be a good day. We can all relax."

Jerry nodded, then sipped his coffee, finishing the dregs in the bottom of the cup.

xxx

"You have a good day, son," John Armstrong said quietly, kissing the top of his son's head. "Stay out o' trouble, you hear?"

Dexter nodded fervently.

John grinned. "Alright, then. Good bye!"

"Bye, Daddy!" Dexter called as John walked back to his car, looking over his shoulder.

"Alright, kids," Jerry Wood said, herding the younger students into the building, his eyes scanning the lot for any stragglers. "C'mon. We're gonna be leavin' soon."

xxx

The sky was clear. The light, sweet scent of autumn permeated the crisp air around the group of schoolchildren and teachers, intoxicating them.

"You were right, Norma," Jerry Wood said softly, sitting on a bench beside the church. "I guess you just see it all better up here… It's beautiful."

What was beautiful, exactly, he couldn't describe.

"I know," Norma replied, her tone replicating Jerry's. Her head snapped to the right, suddenly—towards the old church. "Kids! You kids get away from there! C'mon, I told you. Look, there's lemonade over there. Right there. Let's go an' get you some. Hmm, how's that?"

xxx

Within ten minutes, their makeshift picnic had been set up, and the students wandered and played, while the adults cast watchful gazes over them, the brief looks becoming more and more infrequent as they lost themselves in the constant stream of banter and conversation.

"What's that smell?" Jerry suddenly asked.

That smell… That smell was acrid, foul… It was a stench. It was the stale, wet smell of burning wood. Rotting wood, as a matter of fact, and that accounted for the released humidity.

"Get back!" he screamed. "Norma, get the children back! Someone, call the fire department."

"I've got to go into town to get to a phone," Earl Sumpt, the bus driver, said, scratching his neck nervously.

"Then go," Jerry said impatiently.

"You'll all be fine here on your own?"

Jerry nodded, and Earl meandered over to the bus, speeding up when he looked over his shoulder and caught sight of the incredulous glare Jerry was sending his way…and also as he caught sight of the towering flames, now soaring up to the sky, up past the roof.

So there the teachers and students stood—outside of a burning old church that nobody would miss on the day of their long-planned picnic, waiting for the fire department to arrive… At least, that was how they stood for the next five minutes, until a blue T-bird came flying down the rode, speeding dangerously, and slammed on the brakes outside of the church.

Jerry didn't see the boys exit the car, but he felt the tap on his shoulder when one of them—one with short, light blonde hair and green eyes—tried to get his attention. "What's going on?" the boy asked.

"Well, we don't know for sure," Jerry said with a grin. "We were having a school picnic up here and the first thing we knew, the place is burning down. Thank goodness this is a wet season and the old thing is worthless anyway." He turned and shouted to the kids again. "Stand back, children. The firemen will be coming soon."

The blonde boy muttered something under his breath to a small, dark-haired boy that had followed him, who nodded, transfixed.

Norma ran up beside Jerry, her face frozen with shock and fear. "Jerry, some of the kids are missing."

"They're probably around here somewhere. You can't tell with all this excitement where they might be," Jerry replied soothingly.

"No." She shook her head. "They've been missing for at least a half an hour. I thought they were climbing the hill…"

All four of them froze—Jerry, Norma, the blonde haired boy, and the dark haired boy.

Faintly, just faintly, you could hear someone yelling. And it sounded like it was coming from inside of the church.

Norma went pale. "I told them not to play in the church….I told them…"

Jerry shook her gently to keep her from screaming.

"I'll get them, don't worry!" shouted the blonde boy, starting to run toward the church before Jerry caught his arm.

"I'll get them. You kids stay out!"

The boy jerked loose from Jerry's grip and ran. The dark haired boy followed as another boy—this one also blonde, but incredibly mean and sullen looking, although well-hidden behind his pale blue eyes was a flicker of fear and anxious worry—that was still in the car screamed and swore and threatened with everything under the sun.

Jerry watched fixedly as the boys tossed a large rock through the boarded up window and climbed in after it. Under his breath, he said a prayer.

xxx

It was hot—oh, so hot. It was stifling. Five small children huddled in a corner of the rapidly burning church to avoid being engulfed in the menacing waves of fire. Around them, beams collapsed; papers curled and flew away and burned to crispy ashes; a book slowly seemed to almost melt, one page at a time, where it lay on the floor; the smell of burning cigarettes mingling with the haze of smoke made their eyes water—although they were crying anyway, regardless, with large, rounded tears streaming down their faces one after another.

But it was so hot… Dexter ignored the tears, but wiped the beads of cold sweat from his brow—whether it was from the terror or actual heat, no one would ever know, but either way, he was sweating terribly. Mariana was clutching his thick blue shirt with her tiny fists as it clung to his back and chest, while he held her tightly in his arms, frozen, crying, as others screamed and moaned.

Blind terror had made him seize up and he hadn't moved since.

"In the back, I guess," someone hollered, opening a door and seeing the kids, his eyes going wide as he spotted them.

Cinders and embers rained all over the children as two older boys stumbled through the flames, searching for a clear path. Their cheeks burned. Their arms smarted. Once, Dexter could have sworn, a small flame leaped away from the rest to singe his shoelace, but it was put out as he stomped on it.

"Shut up!" one of the older boys yelled. "We're goin' to get you out!"

Dexter felt the ghost of a smile form upon his lips as the same boy pushed open a window and dropped him outside. He landed hard on his rear, but he was too stunned to notice.

Norma ran to his side and picked him up, hugging him tightly, and set him down gently as, next, Mariana was dropped just as rudely—but she cared just as little as Dexter had, as she was too engrossed in the small wound on her hand, bleeding, stinging.

Jerry watched in mute horror, struck dumb, as the roof began to sink, like a canopy after a heavy rainfall.

"For Pete's sake, get out o' there!" screamed the mean-looking blonde, now standing outside of the window, glancing at the roof the same way Jerry had—with grim expectation. "That roof's gonna cave in any minute. Forget those blasted kids!"

The blonde desperately groaned and monitored the roof.

"Get out!" someone screamed from inside, and the blonde boy with the excited green eyes was shoved forward, almost halfway out the window, before he righted himself and quickly exited the building.

Timber crashed and flames roared behind him as the boy coughed and sobbed, his head swarming with the effects of the smoke. A piercing, curdled scream was heard, and as the green-eyed boy turned, the mean looking boy swore and clubbed him angrily over the back, stamping out flames, before running thoughtlessly into the church himself. The green-eyed boy collapsed in a twisted heap, still gasping, until he succumbed to a peaceful darkness and passed out.

xxx

The roof had caved in upon itself and the rest of the church still standing, so Dallas Winston had to half-limbo his way through the window before he could even enter the church—or what was left of it.

Of all the places he had thought he would end up, this had never been one of them. Of all the situations he had thought he would be faced with, this was one that he had never come to expect.

"Johnny!" he screamed, and he inhaled a mouthful of smoke for his trouble. He was half blinded by the cloud, squinting almost to the point of closing his eyes. _After this_, he thought blandly, _I ain't ever smokin' again_.

"Johnny, speak to me! Come on!"

Coughing. Sputtering. "Dal!" a voice called weakly, half gasp, half whisper.

"Johnny!"

Dallas maneuvered himself as quickly as he could through the debris, still aflame, that buckled and crumbled beneath his shoes or still burned furiously around him in a scorching corona. He tripped and stumbled but found Johnny in a matter of moments, trapped under a large, burning beam of timber. Dallas' eyes widened at the sight, and his vision was clouded, his eyes stinging angrily.

"I got you," he whispered quickly. "I should o' got here sooner."

He looked helplessly from Johnny's face to the broad beam, then made a decision: no matter what, he was going to get Johnny out of that church; they would not die in that church—that church that had been Johnny's prison for five days, where he had fled from murder charges with a loaded gun and his best friend, only to lie awake at night and wonder what would happen next, what would happen to Ponyboy and to himself, and would Dallas ever make it; that church where he had been forced to imagine the look of sheer despair on Mrs. Sheldon's face as she was told of the last moments of her only son, bloody and soaked and drunk and dying on the dirty concrete in the pale moonlight, his eyes wide and surprised; that church where Johnny wondered what would have happened had he not drawn his knife… No. They were getting out. No way were they going to die in that church. Never. They were getting out. They were leaving now.

Ignoring the pungent, vile scent of singed flesh, Dallas reached forward, pulling the cuff of his jacket over his hand to act as a semi-shield, and pulled with all of his might, dropping the timber through a wall that shattered instantly.

He hoisted Johnny up onto his back, mindful of his cries, and noticed…something was not right. His lower half felt entirely limp, even more so than his upper half since he had passed out… Something was not right. But he was bleeding and now so was Dallas—sweating and bleeding and burning. This was it!

Dallas willed himself back through the mess of wood and ash and smoke and God knew whatever else and kicked out the remainder of the window, carefully climbing out, cautious enough not to bump Johnny's head or anything else but unable to use his hands. Jerry Wood and numerous firefighters were now running towards the window. Dallas fell onto the dirt, face first, with Johnny still on his back. He carefully nudged Johnny off of his back, and Johnny rolled onto the dirt beside him. Dallas picked him up and clutched him close to his chest, ignoring the blinding pain searing through his arm, seizing horrid control of every nerve. Dallas ran from the church, but dropped to his knees once a safe distance away. He wouldn't let go, not even when firefighters tried to pry Johnny's limp form from his shaking hands; not even when Jerry Wood attempted to coax him into the ambulance. He couldn't let go. He had come too late, but he wasn't leaving him now.

"Wake up," Dallas whispered roughly, hopelessly, coughing.

There was a series of loud explosions behind him, but he didn't care, ignored it—he barely heard them anyway.

Dallas wavered on his knees, swaying slowly, until he could no longer grip Johnny in his arms. His vise-like grip had been bested in his moment of physical and emotional exhaustion, and smoke-induced dizziness. He was overcome with a haze he could not blink away. He allowed Johnny to be taken from his arms, but he would not allow himself to be led to the ambulance. He climbed in himself, warily regarding the technicians, and sat quietly—a first—onto the stretcher that had been rested on a cot. He watched Johnny's chest rise and fall lightly, shakily, as he slept, unaware of anything except the alternate reality of his dreams.

Dallas lay down, allowing his arm to be examined, and closed his eyes.

xxx

The five young children who had been trapped in the church had been taken to the hospital as well to be examined for injuries. The small burns had been treated with ointment. The scratches and cuts had been bathed in iodine. Mariana's hand had been copiously wrapped in gauze. Their parents had been summoned to the hospital, and the tears had been wiped away, smudging the dirt and soot, the cheeks kissed.

The story they heard was astounding.

"…_The church…it was on fire. The whole thing burned up. There was no stoppin' it. There were some matches lying around and the kids found them—and the church caught fire pretty quick after that. They were trapped. We could hear them screaming. But then these boys—these ordinary lookin' boys—showed up, and they ran in and saved them. Didn't even think. It was just…natural. It was natural. Bravest kids I've seen in a long time…First, two of them climbed in through a window and dropped the kids out. Then, the other one, this tough looking kid with the meanest disposition you ever saw, went in after because one of them didn't make it out. But he got him. The one he saved, he's not doing so well…Broken spine, stricken with shock, and severe third degree burns. The mean one's alright, though—resting with a badly burned arm. But the first one, he'll be just fine. Few burns here, a bruise on his back—wait 'til those heal up, he'll be good as new. The kids are alright. And those boys…heroes. Straight from heaven."_

They hugged their children tightly to their chests, sobbing, while the children's wide eyes examined the hospital, the continually moving crowd of doctors and technicians and hospital-goers, and their little, soot covered ears perked at the sounds of loud voices emanating from down the hallway.

Dexter Armstrong got one good look at one of the boys that had saved his life as he passed through the waiting room, his warm hand in his father's clammy, shaking hand. The boy was tired and dirty. The boy looked overwhelmed. The boy's shoulders were an armrest for a taller, older boy, posing for pictures. The boy was smiling.

xxx

"I told you I would show you a sunset, right, Dex?" John Armstrong asked shakily, cradling his son in his arms.

Dexter nodded sleepily, his eyes heavily lidded.

"Well, here it is…"

Dexter looked up in time to see the deep scarlet sun glide effortlessly over field after field once again, except backwards. For a moment, there was a green glow around the sun, conforming with the latitudinal lines of the horizon, stretching out into forever. Then it was gone. Gone in a brilliant flash of green and gold that sparkled in Dexter's eyes.

An adventure, indeed—and almost time for bed.

"Didn't I tell you?" John questioned, and Dexter was now quite awake. "Yeah, so you saw it… That was the green flash. I've only ever seen it once before. I was with _my_ father. Now, it's your turn. Your chance."

XXX

-TWENTY YEARS LATER-

xxx

"Pony, I believe you've met my son before," the man said, shaking Ponyboy's hand and gracefully guiding him over to a young man of twenty-five years, standing tall with poise and confidence. His blue eyes were luminous, and his golden blonde hair was short and clean.

"Well, you've spoken of him," Pony assured the man. "But I'm sure we've never met."

The young man grinned knowingly, and took Ponyboy's hand in his, grasping it tightly as his father looked on approvingly.

"My Dad talks about you. And I was born in Windrixville in 1961. When I was five, my school had a picnic at an old abandoned church and I remember because I saved all the article clippings."

The man smiled. Ponyboy smiled, too.

* * *

A/N: _Anyone remember Dexter and John? Huh? Well, you wouldn't unless you've read Remember Never. You haven't? Well, what are you waiting for? Go read it _now!


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